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Everything Was Blue
everything was blue you're ripped at every edge but you're a ma''s't''''e'r'p''''i'e'c'e'' act 1. would you rather “Quailpaw, come back!” The colours of leaf-fall surrounded the aforementioned Quailpaw. Beautiful hues of brown and orange danced around him in the form of swaying trees, and the ground beneath him was filled with brittle, orange and red leaves that crunched satisfyingly as his paws trod upon them. Weak sunlight filtered into the forest, touching his brown and white dappled pelt. A soft breeze ruffled his fur. “What?” Quailpaw called, flicking his tail. Without a care in the world, he continued forewards, the greyish sky above him filled with fluffy, pale clouds. “Get back here, Quailpaw!” The tom sighed exaggeratedly. He paused, twitching his whiskers. He turned around to see the pensive face of his mentor, Littlebird, as well as his fellow apprentice, Bluepaw, and his mentor, Powdernose. Quailpaw rolled his eyes. “Fi-ine,” he meowed. Littlebird bristled. “It’d do you well to listen to your mentor,” Littlebird said. Her ginger tail whipped behind her. “What-ev-er,” Quailpaw snorted. Littlebird’s gaze hardened, and she said nothing more. Bluepaw glared at him through clear, aqua-coloured eyes. Quailpaw never really talked to Bluepaw- he was too uptight, and a killjoy. He always told on Quailpaw when he, Sparrowpaw, and Finchpaw went exploring at night. Powdernose looked at Quailpaw. “Arrogant apprentices make disloyal warriors,” she meowed simply. Quailpaw shrugged. “Okay,” he meowed, and fell into step beside the rest of the patrol. “You’re still young,” Bluepaw meowed to him as they continued walking. “You could have accidentally crossed the border when you were running ahead,” he said condescendingly. Quailpaw felt his tail bush up. “You’re younger than me!” Bluepaw gazed at him evenly. “Your point? Besides, I may be younger, but at least I respect my mentor and follow orders.” He lifted his head slightly. “You should try it some time.” “You’re in-suff-er-able,” Quailpaw huffed, pacing ahead of the tom. Even as he settled walking a few steps in front of everyone, he could still feel Bluepaw’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He ducked. “Wait, Quailpaw, we’re at the border,” Littlebird informed him. As if I couldn’t tell, he thought to himself in irritation. The scent of ShadowClan that permeated the air was so palpable, he almost choked on it. “The scent is very strong,” Quailpaw reported without nary a sniff. “So they must’ve marked the border recently,” Bluepaw added. Quailpaw flicked his tail in annoyance. Steal my thunder any more, why don’t cha? Powdernose nodded. “Very true, good job, Quailpaw and Bluepaw.” The praise from the stern pale grey she-cat warmed Quailpaw to the tips of his ears. “And it seems like there’s no scent over the border, although it’s very close,” Bluepaw murmured. “Hostile, they aren’t being.” Littlebird stepped forward cautiously and sniffed. “Yes, that seems to be true. Very good.” Bluepaw simply blinked. Quailpaw fumed under his thin pelt. “Well then, let’s mark the border,” Powdernose meowed. Quailpaw twitched his tail and trotted over to a nearby tree, leaving his scent marker. He watched through narrowed eyes as Bluepaw casually marked a bush. The grey tom suddenly stiffened. “I smell ShadowClan.” Of course you do, Quailpaw thought bitterly to himself. It’s everywhere around us. Littlebird frowned. “I do as well. A patrol is approaching.” She twitched her tail, and lowered her head. “Let’s keep on marking the border. We’re not doing anything we’re not supposed to,” she said with a shrug. The impending scent of ShadowClan grew closer until Quailpaw raised his head from an unruly tuft of grass and saw four tall, sleek-furred cats staring at the ThunderClan cats. Three of them looked like warriors, and the fourth was an apprentice, slightly smaller than the rest, with kit-fluff around his features. Powdernose twitched her whiskers. “Can we… Help you?” She fixed her pale blue gaze on a dark ginger tomcat with a scar on his muzzle. “Your apprentices are awfully close to the border,” the ginger tom growled. Bluepaw looked at him, his eyes showing no fear although the warrior was much larger than him. Quailpaw flexed his claws. “They haven’t crossed it. We’re just doing a border patrol,” Littlebird said. She stepped closer to Quailpaw, almost protectively. “We haven’t done anything wrong,” she added. One of the warriors, a brown tabby she-cat, drew her lips back in a snarl. “Toadstar told us that there’s been ThunderClan scent over the border. We’re only being cautious.” Her yellowish eyes turned to slits. Quailpaw tensed. Littlebird’s hackles raised. “We’ve smelled nor done nothing of the sort.” The younger one- a grey and white apprentice -snorted. “Of course ThunderClan would try and cover their own tracks. Typical,” he sneered. Quailpaw felt rage bubble up inside of him. How dare he mock ThunderClan! Bluepaw levelled his gaze with the apprentice. “Making baseless accusations will get you nowhere in life. There’s no need to act so rude,” he meowed. His expression didn’t shift even as the apprentice’s grew angry, baring his fangs. Bluepaw kept speaking as his mentor, Powdernose, frowned, but didn’t stop him. “Perhaps… Your leader lied to you?” The grey and white apprentice’s gaze darkened and he crept towards Bluepaw, then reared back on his hind legs and let out a loud, heavy hiss, and crashed into grey apprentice. Bluepaw leapt away, but not before the apprentice managed to land a blow on his ear. Bluepaw grunted quietly as blood spurted from the cut. Quailpaw watched in awe, holding back his sudden urge to rip off the ShadowClan apprentice’s pelt. The apprentice leapt at Bluepaw again, but was quickly dragged back by the ShadowClan cat who hadn’t yet spoken- a dappled black and white she-cat. The she-cat growled. “Shadepaw!” she hissed. “He was asking for it!” Shadepaw protested. Bluepaw rolled his eyes. “Pity,” he scoffed. Powdernose shoved Bluepaw behind her and glared at the ShadowClan patrol. “Do all your apprentices act so inappropriately?” she spat. Her blue eyes blazed, and she dug her claws into the grassy undergrowth. “Disgusting,” she growled, then whirled around without another word to the ShadowClan cats. “We’re going back to camp. Bluepaw needs to see the medicine cat,” the grey she-cat hissed. Quailpaw was stunned, nearly unable to move. He padded stiffly after Powdernose, leaving the ShadowClan patrol behind. “Powdernose, I’m fine,” Bluepaw insisted. Quailpaw noticed the grey apprentice flick his injured ear, only at a slight angle, to the side. Of… Of course he’s fine. It’s just a little nick. As Bluepaw and Powdernose bickered, Quailpaw found himself unable to rid his thoughts of the grey apprentice. “Show-off,” he huffed under his breath as the four stole back to camp, making great haste. ⋆⋆⋆ “Quailpaaaaaw, it’s your turn.” Finchpaw’s green eyes glowed in the darkness of the apprentice’s den. “Hmmm,” Quailpaw said as he looked at his sister’s shining face. He swept his gaze around, looking at all of his fellow apprentices. There were his sisters, Finchpaw and Sparrowpaw. Then there was Blazepaw and his brother, Webpaw. Smallpaw and Rowanpaw sat together at the edge of the den. Wow, there were a lot of apprentices in ThunderClan, wasn’t there? “Hmmm…” Quailpaw repeated. “Alright everyone, would you rather… be trapped cleaning the elder’s den for a whole moon every day or…” he paused, thinking of an equally horrible alternative. He grinned. “Always have to train, hunting and fighting, with Bluepaw.” A chorus of groans sounded in the den. Quailpaw noticed that the mocked Bluepaw wasn’t in the den, grumbling in his nest like he usually was. Huh. “Bluepaw isn’t that bad,” Smallpaw decided. “I’d rather stick with him than listening to Petalheart ramble on and on about the good ol’ days.” “Me too,” Rowanpaw meowed. “Same,” said Webpaw. Sparrowpaw nodded. “Ughhh,” Quailpaw groaned. “Bluepaw is the worst. I’d let Petalheart, Whiskerface, and Leafshadow talk my ears off before I’d suffer through training with him all the time.” Finchpaw tipped her head to the side, indecisive. “I dunno. They’re both pretty bad.” Quailpaw stood from his nest and shook out raggedy bits of moss from his brown and white pelt. “While you decide, I’m gonna hit the dirtplace.” He flicked his tail and flashed a smile at his friends. “Be back in a flash.” He stepped into the cool night air. The wind rustled the colourful leaves above him, branches swaying in the breeze. Moonlight fell over his fur. At night, under the dark indigo sky, the camp was eerily silent. It was both calming and unnerving. The tom pricked his ears. He heard voices, sounding quiet and angry, at the edge of camp. Interest piqued, Quailpaw skirted around the clearing and paused at the entrance tp the dirtplace. The voices grew louder- it sounded like they were squabbling. Quailpaw peeked around a cluster of bushes. There he saw… Bluepaw? He was arguing with a thick-furred grey she-cat with dark, leafy-green eyes. Quailpaw recognized Fernheart, Bluepaw’s mother. Why would they be fighting? He felt oddly uneasy watching them argue. “What’s this I hear about you getting attacked by ShadowClan?” Fernheart asked in a harsh, hushed tone. Bluepaw shrunk down from her. Bluepaw… Looking scared? No way! Quailpaw caught his breath. “An unruly apprentice initiated it,” Bluepaw told her. Fernheart drew back from him. “And you didn’t fight back?” she asked. Bluepaw shrugged. “A ShadowClan warrior intercepted after he landed the blow,” he replied. Fernheart’s eyes glittered with distaste, and Quailpaw’s own widened. He couldn’t believe what he saw next. Fernheart struck her son’s ear, where he had suffered the wound. It reopened and bright red blood welled from the nick. Bluepaw winced and let out a quiet, thin wail. He staggered back from his mother. Quailpaw’s stomach lurched. “True warriors fight their own battles,” Fernheart growled. Bluepaw said nothing, but didn’t look shocked. Is he used to this? The thought made Quailpaw feel sick. Fernheart flattened her ears to her head. “You should have torn his pelt off! You have a legacy to uphold, as the son of the leader… You don’t back down from a fight,” she hissed. “I know, mother…” Bluepaw murmured. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Fernheart bristled. “Good.” Then she turned and stalked through camp, back to the warrior’s den. Bluepaw’s shoulders slumped, ears folded down. Quailpaw felt a sudden burst of sympathy for the tom. His heart told him to call out to Bluepaw and comfort him, but he remained silent. Bluepaw would never forgive Quailpaw if he knew he had been spying on him. Bluepaw shifted, and Quailpaw heard the apprentice… sobbing? It was so quiet, he could barely hear it. Quailpaw stretched his neck out further and saw the distraught Bluepaw shaking, claws buried in the sandy ground. Quailpaw’s eyes widened and he froze. Then he slowly backed away from the bush, and, as quietly as he could, made his way back to the apprentice’s den. And that’s when Quailpaw realized that the cracks in perfect, stone-cold Bluepaw’s facade were starting to show. act 2. never have i ever “Quailpaw? What do you want?” “H-Hey, Bluepaw…” Quailpaw, the energetic, self-assured apprentice, nervous? Impossible. And around Bluepaw? Unthinkable! But yet, that didn’t stop his heart from racing in his chest and his breath from shaking. Bluepaw gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you going to say something or are you just going to sit there, dumbfounded like a baby bird?” the grey apprentice asked. Quailpaw shook himself. Why did I think this was a good idea? '' “Um, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a walk with me?” Quailpaw averted his gaze, instead looking towards the apprentice’s den. There, he saw Finchpaw and Sparrowpaw staring at him, wide-eyed. ''Wrong place to glance He turned his gaze up to the pale sky. Bluepaw gave him an incredulous look. “What?” “You heard me,” Quailpaw responded. Bluepaw’s eyes turned to slits. “Is this one of you and your cronies sick pranks?” he demanded, regarding Quailpaw suspiciously. Quailpaw sighed, exasperated. “No!” he exclaimed, flexing his claws. “I really just want to hang out with you! StarClan forbi-id I actually try being nice to you!” he growled. Bluepaw cocked his head to the side, but otherwise his expression didn’t change. “Really now?” he questioned. “Really!” Quailpaw meowed, flicking his tail in annoyance. Bluepaw shrugged slightly. Quailpaw noticed his wound, the wound that had been reopened by his own mother, was crusted with flakes of dry blood. Did he not go see Fennelfur for treatment after last night? Well, I guess he wouldn’t want to, seeing as she’s Fernheart’s sister… ''Quailpaw set his jaw. ''Why am I concerned? I’m not,I just want to hear about Fernheart from the horse’s mouth. “Then I suppose I can humour you for a bit,” Bluepaw conceded. “Consider yourself lucky.” He twitched his ear, just like he had done around Fernheart the night prior. The grey apprentice’s fur brushed against Quailpaw’s own as he pushed out of camp. “Let’s go.” Quailpaw bounded after him. He has no humility, he decided as they fell into step beside each other. He hummed quietly to himself as the leaves crunched beneath his paws. Bluepaw stepped lightly, as if he didn’t want to break the brittle, fallen leaves. “So,” Bluepaw exhaled after a few moments of silence between them. “You must have some ulterior motive for getting me out here alone.” Quailpaw watched a beautiful orange and brown leaf flutter to the ground. “Nope,” he meowed innocently. He looked around at the surrounding trees. “Isn’t it nice out today?” Bluepaw blinked at him and murmured his agreement. “Sooooo… What’s up?” Quailpaw asked. “Anything interesting happen these days?” Bluepaw flicked his ear again. Quailpaw side-eyed him. “Nope.” The grey tom looked away. Hm. I need to press him further, I guess. “Anything wrong? You seem slightly more gloomy than usual,” Quailpaw meowed, forcing a chuckle. Bluepaw scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong,” he replied simply. There! There it was again. Bluepaw twitched his injured ear. Did he have an anxious tic? It seemed like he did that whenever he was lying. Quailpaw felt a surge of satisfaction rip through him. I have figured out Bluepaw! he thought to himself. “You know, you can always tell me if something’s up. We’re… we’re… brothers in arms, I think they call them?” Quailpaw shrugged. “Apprentices gotta stick together.” Bluepaw froze, and turned to Quailpaw. He braced himself. Bluepaw’s face turned to a scowl, and his eyes were filled with reproach as he looked at the other apprentice. “Who do you think you are?” he hissed. “What?” Quailpaw meowed, confused. “You’ve been nothing but unpleasant to me every time we’ve talked,” Bluepaw growled, stepping back from Quailpaw. A chilly, leaf-fall breeze ripped through the air, tugging at his grey fur. “And now you expect me to get all buddy-buddy with you? For all I know, this could just be a huge joke!” he spat. Quailpaw suddenly felt weak in the knees. “It’s- It’s not!” he protested, but Bluepaw just shook his head. “I have no reason to tell you anything.” The grey apprentice dug his claws into the dirt. “Because we’re not friends. You know what? Screw this. You suck.” His usually eloquent tone faltered and his words became messy. “I’m going.” He turned back in the direction he came and stalked towards camp. Quailpaw felt angry, sure, but another feeling came up from within his fury and settled on his chest like a wet sheet of moss. Between the rage that bubbled up inside him, making heat spread throughout him, another feeling that felt much worse soared up into him. He struggled to breathe. His legs were shaking. “Bluepaw, wait!” Quailpaw yelled. If the slim, grey apprentice heard him he didn’t give any indication, and continued on with his head low to the ground. “I’m sorry!” No, you’re not! You have nothing to be sorry for! He was the one who lashed out, you were just trying to be nice! He caught up to Bluepaw quickly and jumped in front of him. “Sorry for just try-ying to be your friend! I thought you might want to have one for once in your life!” Quailpaw snarled. Bluepaw tossed out an ‘''ugh''’ before swerving around him. That was probably not the best thing to say. Quailpaw grit his teeth. He didn’t know why he was acting the way he was. He didn’t even like Bluepaw! Why was he going through all of this trouble? Bluepaw could bad-mouth him all he wanted back at camp- he wouldn’t care, and it’s not like any of the apprentices would listen to what he had to say. “Whatever!” he muttered underneath his breath. Quailpaw sprang forward and stopped in front of Bluepaw, their faces just a mouse-length apart. All of the heat caused by his anger surged back into him. When it looked like Bluepaw was about to brush past him again, he spoke. “I saw you last night.” Bluepaw stopped in his tracks, as if he was rooted to the ground. Fear crossed his face. “Y-You did?” he stuttered.Bluepaw doesn’t stutter! “I did.” Quailpaw dipped his head. In nothing but a few seconds, Bluepaw’s entire demeanor changed. His shoulders shook. “Please don’t tell anyone! Have you told anyone? Oh no, Fernheart will be so angry with me!” he fretted. “Slow down! I didn’t say a word!” Quailpaw meowed, taken aback. Bluepaw’s legs crumpled under him and he sank into the ground, looking torn. His lean form quivered under his fur. “You… You didn’t?” he asked in a shrill voice. Quailpaw looked down at him in dismay. The way Bluepaw was acting now was such a far cry from how he was just moments ago. The apprentice was shaking. “I didn’t,” Quailpaw promised. Bluepaw looked at him, his gaze twisted with fright and shock. “Why… Why not? I thought you hated me. You could’ve ruined my life by telling your friends about my mother,” Bluepaw meowed quietly. Quailpaw heaved a heavy sigh. The feeling from before nearly suffocated him, tearing his chest apart, threatening to burst out of him. Bluepaw looked so weak, so fragile. Not the perfect apprentice he had made himself out to be. “I don’t hate you,” Quailpaw whispered in a tiny voice. Is that what Bluepaw thought of him as? A vengeful monster? “You think I would do that?” Bluepaw nodded miserably. “Wouldn’t you?” “No!” Quailpaw exclaimed with much more fire in his voice than he intended. Bluepaw shuddered. He bent down to the grey tom’s level. “Why won’t you tell anyone? She.. She’s awful!” He flung up a paw and indicated the wound on Bluepaw’s ear. “She did that to you!” An indescribable pain filled Bluepaw’s eyes. “She’s my mother.” Quailpaw set his jaw as he looked at Bluepaw. The feeling in his chest was so strong that it spread to his stomach, and nausea flooded through him. He swayed on his paws. Despite his opinion on Bluepaw, no one should have to go through what he was, especially when he was so young. And with his mother, no less. Quailpaw bent closer to the ground and tried to nudge Bluepaw to his feet. “I won’t tell,” he declared. “I’ll… I’ll help you in whatever way I can.” Bluepaw stood, uncertain on his wobbly paws. He turned his gaze to look at the ground. “Thanks,” he meowed, though it was scarcely more than a whisper. “Let’s go back to camp,” Quailpaw recommended. Bluepaw nodded, and the two walked back to camp, side by side, without saying another word to each other. Bluepaw looked like he was struggling to keep it together, and Quailpaw felt the pressure in his chest slowly fade away. They stepped into ThunderClan’s clearing. “Well, thanks,” Bluepaw said flatly. He straightened his posture, regaining his composure. “Bye.” Then he marched over to the fresh-kill pile and picked through the prey before selecting a juicy vole. Quailpaw was so busy watching him that he was nearly knocked off his paws as Finchpaw sped to his side. “You… You went out with Bluepaw?” she asked, baffled. Quailpaw averted his gaze. “Yeah,” he meowed Finchpaw brightened. “Wow. Didn’t know he was your type.” She cast a glance towards Bluepaw, who was tucking into his vole. His eyes met Quailpaw’s from across camp and he fixed his gaze on his paws. “Weren’t you just saying last night that you’d let the elders bore you to death before subjecting yourself to spending time with him?” “Yeah, but- Hey!” Quailpaw exclaimed. “He is not my type!” He lashed his tail, and his ear tips grew hot. “I have no idea what you’re talking about! He’s- He’s still the worst!” Finchpaw looked unconvinced. “Uh-huh, yeah.” Quailpaw fumed at his sister’s insinuation. A hot flush crawled up his neck. Embarrassed, he licked his chest fur. Finchpaw watched as Bluepaw headed into the apprentice’s den. “I guess there’s more to him than meets the eye, eh, Quailpaw?” “Yeah,” Quailpaw mewed wistfully. ⋆⋆⋆ “How many lives do you have left, Quailpaw?” “All nine,” the apprentice replied proudly. Sparrowpaw gaped. “I’ve only got six,” she meowed, twitching her whiskers. “I’ve got three,” Rowanpaw meowed. Smallpaw’s eyes widened at her brother. “I was a wild child,” he chuckled. Smallpaw rolled her eyes and nudged him playfully. “Is this what you guys do for fun?” Bluepaw asked from beside Quailpaw. He had his head in his paws and he was watching without playing along. “Yes,” Quailpaw replied. Bluepaw rolled his eyes and shifted in his nest, which he had moved closer to Quailpaw’s- of his own accord. “Now, whose turn is it? Yours, Finchpaw, right?” “Yup,” the brown she-cat responded. “How about… Never have I ever…” She grinned devilishly. “Had a crush!” Sparrowpaw scratched out one of the markers of her lives in the dusty ground, looking sheepish. “Five now.” Every apprentice looked at her for an explanation. “Come on, didn’t we all have a bit of a crush on Branchstar when we were younger?” “Gross. That’s my dad,” chirped Bluepaw. Webpaw crossed out one of his lives. “I know I did,” the white tom admitted, ignoring Bluepaw’s comment. His brother, Blazepaw, scratched out his own as well. “More like have, present tense,” he mewed. He screwed up his face. “Not on Branchstar, though.” “Oh, do tell,” Finchpaw goaded. Blazepaw shook his head. “Never in a million years,” he said firmly. Finchpaw stuck out her tongue playfully. “You’re no fuuuun,” she pouted. Then she turned her expectant, hungry-for-information gaze to Quailpaw. “What about you, Quails? I expect you’ll be losing your first life this round. I mean, everyone has had a crush at this age.” For proof, she clawed out one of her own lives. Quailpaw wriggled in his nest. “Nope,” he told his sister. “I’m a business tom. No time for crushes.” He shook his head for effect. Finchpaw looked at him in disbelief. “Really? I doubt that,” she meowed. “Nothing to doubt,” Quailpaw insisted. Beside him, Bluepaw snorted. “Scratch out one of your lives,” Finchpaw ordered. “I know you’re lying!” “Whaaaat are you talking about?” Quailpaw asked, genuinely confused. Finchpaw balked at him. “You’re kidding… Right?” she asked. “No?” Quailpaw meowed. His sister rolled her eyes, then stretched forward and rubbed out one of his lives. “Hey!” Finchpaw snorted. “Trust me on this one, Quails. Siblings know. Siblings always know.”